


Dragon & Wolf

by JulietaJuris



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Dany, Eventually Dance of the Dragons 2.0, F/M, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Lyanna Stark Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-07 03:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16846228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulietaJuris/pseuds/JulietaJuris
Summary: Lyanna survives and escapes Westeros with baby Jon in tow. Years later Jon returns to Westeros with his mother and aunt to take his rightful place as King. All seems to go as planned until a certain Stark catches his eye.(rewrite of my old fic Fire and Ice)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote a very messy version of this when I first fell in love with the Jonsa ship about three years ago (has it really been that long? whoa). I was new to Game of Thrones and had yet to finish reading the books. So, I had a very basic understanding of the houses and the characters. I actually had a poor understanding of the Targaryen House and Daenerys as well. So, once I started forming different opinions on Daenerys mostly, I abandoned the story since it painted her as a hero alongside Jon. 
> 
> Anyways, I'm going to rewrite this and hold to the lore as well as the characters now that I have a better understanding of book canon. This will have Dark Dany in the future. I'm sure this is going get me some nasty comments, but I'm choosing not to moderate my comments (for now). 
> 
> The prologue is short but sets up the rest of the story. I promise to write longer chapters in the future. Please let me know what you all think and leave a comment. Finally, it's good to be back to writing for this ship!

Sansa Stark had been instructed to retire to Maegor’s Holdfast with the Queen just as she had during Stannis Baratheon’s siege. She remained in the Godswood, hoping to see Ser Dontos scampering out into view. She had wished that perhaps he had come up with a last-minute plan to whisk her away from King’s Landing. Yet, she remains alone in the Godswood.

 

It’s such an awful thing to wish for, but Sansa hopes she’ll be widowed by the end of the Targaryen siege. Gods, she shouldn’t wish it, but she can only think of how Robb and her mother had died by the Freys’ hands. Sometimes she’ll see a look in her husband’s eyes, and she’s fearful that he might not wait any longer. Sansa has heard all the talk that her reluctance to bed him has become a joke to the Queen. How much longer can the man endure the shame before he takes what is to be believed his right through marriage?

 

 _Let her cousin kill them all._ If Robb couldn’t, Jon is the last one that can. Sansa tries to picture him with purple eyes and long silver hair. She wants to see a hero, but she’s just too afraid to believe in songs anymore. She kneels before the heart tree. Sansa looks to the red flowers peppered around the great oak. _Dragon’s breath._ The Red Keep once belong to the Targaryen House. She shouldn’t hope for King Jon and Princess Daenerys to prevail. Her father had fought so valiantly against their family before Sansa even existed in the world.

 

And yet, she plucks one red flower and takes it between her fingers. She turns the stem between her forefinger and her thumb. Her eyes can barely see the burgundy shade in the night sky. She holds the flower in her hand and rises to her feet. Her eyes catch the dragon's fire igniting against the city gates. She’s heard of Daenerys and her ill-fated marriage to the Khal across the Narrow Sea. Perhaps if Jon never existed, she never would have known anything of Daenerys Targaryen. But, her Aunt Lyanna and her Cousin Jon’s very existence was another reason for Joffrey to order beatings. The Targaryens' military successes in Essos would only fill Sansa’s life with more violence ordered by the Queen's bastard son.

 

Fire rains upon King’s Landing. Sansa looks upon it in both awe and in terror. Dragons were thought to be beings of the past, but she can see large black wings light up whenever the creature spits another breath of fire. She imagines King Jon and Ser Arthur Dayne fighting in a thick crowd of Lannister soldiers. _Lannisters against Targaryens._ It should be harder for her to pick a side than it is. But, the Lannisters have taken her father, her mother, and her brothers from her. Maybe even Arya too. So, since the day of Robb’s ill-fated wedding, she’s hoped that it would come to this.

 

It is why Lord Tywin had hoped to sever any alliance King Jon could barter with her by forcing her to marry his imp of a son. When the Targaryens had taken Dragonstone, they had forced her into a wedding gown the very next morning and presented her to Tyrion Lannister as if she were a piece of meat on a plate. She imagines it is why Lord Tywin had her family killed so swiftly upon hearing that the Targaryens were sailing west. Robb had made a grave mistake when he wed Jeyne Westerling. Robb's only chance to avenge his father’s death and to steal his last known surviving sibling away from the Lannisters would have been to bend the knee to his cousin.

 

Hot tears slip down her cheeks. Sansa wishes she was born a bastard with no claim to anything. She is nothing but a key to be passed around by those with more power than she has. Her claim to Winterfell is all that people see. It almost seems easier if she were a girl with no claim at all. She could have married another bastard with nothing more than the name _Snow_. A tear falls from her cheek down onto a deep red petal of the dragon's breath flower. If she were like Arya she could run off into the night, but she couldn’t survive out in the forests. Her survival is rooted in the courts and playing the games of those in power.

 

Sansa drops her hands to the side and lets the flower fall from her fingers. She wonders who King Jon will arrange her to marry or if he’ll even annul her marriage to Tyrion at all. Her hands instinctively rise to her breast where Tyrion had groped her on their wedding night. Her mind will go back to that memory time and again. Every single time she’ll feel this chill run through her. Maybe last night was the last night she had to sleep in a bed next to her husband. Sansa shivers when she thinks of Tyrion as her husband. Her heart burns with anger as she remembers being forced to become the very thing she hates, _a Lannister_.

 

The Tagaryens have dragons. There is no possible way for the Lannister Army to stand victorious. Even if Tyrion survives, she will go to King Jon and beg him to annul her marriage if she has to. Sansa looks out into the night sky. She can see fire off in the distance. Tonight will be the last night that she is forced to carry the Lannister name.

 


	2. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn’t intended to update so soon, but I just had this chapter in my mind. It came to me so naturally. I needed to get it out of my system. 
> 
> This chapter should set up some of the events to come. Leave a comment and let me know what you think.

Jon Targaryen—the last Targaryen son. A man with a Valyrian title, and yet, his mother had chosen to give him a Northern name. _Jon._  It’s simple and common, but also like a branch reaching out to the other half of his family. _Never forget who you are,_  his mother has always told him this. Jon had heard the mad rantings of his ill-fated uncle. It was supposed to be his uncle’s birthright before his, or so Viserys had said.

 

_“Your mother is a liar and a schemer. My brother was married to Princess Elia before her. You do not have a claim. You are not a true dragon. You are Jon Sand.”_

 

Ruling the Seven Kingdoms was never what Jon wanted. For a while, he drifted wherever his uncle would take him and his Aunt Daenerys. He never had the drive to make a play at his claim. After Viserys was crowned in molting gold and the Khal died by a witch’s spell shortly after, Ser Arthur and his mother had advised that they start a life as a family in spite of Daenerys’ ambition. _Let her follow her own path,_ his mother had advised in Qarth. _Let her have that iron chair if that is what she feels she must do._

 

That was until he entered the House of the Undying with Daenerys. He can still remember following behind her with Viserion and Drogon on her back. He can still feel Rhaegal’s claws digging into the thin material of his clothes as he looked into door amongst door in that long haunting tower. He had never been one to believe in prophecies or magick, but he had seen something in there that he can never forget.

 

A specter had appeared before him—a headless man carrying what could only be his own head. _It can only be you, Jon._ He remembers the shiver that ran through him at the sight of it all. _Winter is Coming. It must be you._ A fortnight after his encounter with the specter in the House of the Undying his mother would go into mourning upon hearing that her brother was beheaded by King Joffrey.

 

Jon had never seen a Godswood before. None had existed in Essos nor was there one in Dragonstone. The Targaryens do not have ties to the Old Gods, but the Starks do. He had meant to go to the Heart Tree to speak with the fallen Eddard Stark—the specter he had seen in the House of the Undying. But, instead, he finds a girl curled into herself next to the great oak. Her long red hair seems to flow in waves. His eyes linger on the auburn hues. It is said that those kissed by fire are lucky.

 

Jon kneels down to the sleeping figure. He brushes stray strands of red hair from her face. The girl blinks twice before her blue eyes refocus on him. Her eyes glance upon his crown and her lips part into a gasp as she sits up. Her hands are smoothing leaves off her dress.

 

“ _Your grace…_ ” her whispering voice shakes as she lowers her head in a tiny bow.

 

Jon studies her gown of red and gold. It is far too elegant to be that of a handmaiden. And yet, despite being dressed in Lannister golds and reds, she is in the Godswood. _Sansa Stark_. Varys had said that the Lannisters had forced her into a marriage with Tywin’s youngest son. How cruel it is to murder her father and force her to wear the Lannister name.

 

“Lady Sansa,” he begins. “It pains me to inform you that your husband fell in combat.”

 

Sansa doesn’t seem stunned or grief-stricken. There’s this look of relief that dances behind her eyes. Her eyes fall to the grass beneath her as if to hide how she truly feels about it. Perhaps she finds it disrespectful to be so indifferent to her husband’s death, but Jon can hardly blame her for it. He still remembers the fear that poured off of Daenerys when Viserys forced her to marry Khal Drogo. No one should ever be forced in such a position where they must spend the rest of their days lying beside a man they fear.

 

There’s a quiet reverie that passes between them. Neither of them speaks or even makes the slightest of sounds. Both are still as their eyes meet. Jon offers her both of his hands and she takes them with shaking hands. Sansa falters, nearly tripping over her own feet. The dark circles underneath her eyes show fatigue, but not just from this night. She’s been wrought with exhaustion for longer than just one night of war. She’s been fighting her own battles for a long time now. Jon lifts her up into his arms. She’s tense at first but she relaxes within mere moments.

 

“You are with family now,” he reassures her, knowing full well that the Lannisters never truly treated her as family despite their efforts to make her one of them.

 

Sansa rests her head in the crook of his shoulder. Her hand reaches out to the scaled black material on his coat. She rests her hand on his chest before she drifts back to sleep.

 

First light breaks through the sky, illuminating the pathway back towards the Red Keep. Jon looks to the smoke filling the morning sky. His lips press together into a thin line as he recalls the devastation of Daenerys’ dragons. There is no doubt that her dragons have brought victory in their militaristic pursuits. _But, at what cost?_ Joffrey’s reign has been on the level of their fallen grandfather, but is dragon’s fire really just?

 

_“The Seven Kingdoms belong to our family, Jon. It is our right to take what is ours by any means necessary. Or, would you rather have Joffrey sit in our house and rule our kingdom?”_

 

There must be another way. He doesn’t want to go from city to city and burn castles to the ground. What is there left to rule if it’s all turned to ash? He never asked to be King. He never truly wanted it. _Not even after the House of the Undying._ His aunt wants what she believes to be hers, and his mother wants justice for Eddard Stark. _But, what does he want?_ Jon isn’t quite sure.

 

Jon looks down to the fragile girl in his arms. She is the last of Eddard Stark’s issue just as he is the last of his father’s line. It must have been so lonely for her for so long to be so completely alone in the world.

 

His mind races as he moves through the Red Keep, with only one goal in mind: to find a place of rest for Sansa Stark. He walks past the library and the Royal Sept, eyes scanning for any safe place he can lie the girl down. He walks up the serpentine steps to Maegor’s Holdfast—the same fortress where his men had seized Cersei Lannister and her son Tommen. He moves through the small castle within the Keep. He finds a room set open and decorated in blacks and golds—Joffrey’s old apartments.

 

Joffrey’s bed doesn’t seem ideal for Lady Sansa, but this will be Jon’s room soon enough. He lays her on the bed and draws the covers over her sleeping form. His hand lingers on the bed as he looks down upon her. Sansa does not stir from her slumber but seems to sleep so peacefully for someone who has suffered for so long. If this is the justice his mother had sought for her family, Jon sees no fault in taking King’s Landing from the Lannisters.

 

“Is that her?”

 

Jon turns away from the bed to see his mother dressed in a dark blue gown. Jon gives her a small nod. His mother moves towards him until they stand side by side. His mother places her hand on top of Sansa’s and drops to her knees. A staggered breath escapes her as she looks down on Sansa with tears brimming her eyes.

 

“I thought about her quite a bit since discovering that the Lannisters killed my dear Ned,” his mother’s words are heavy when she speaks. “I kept thinking that we weren’t moving fast enough—that she suffered just a bit longer whenever we had even the slightest of setbacks. It’s so terrible to think of what occurred behind these walls while we built our armies and planned for war. Gods, I had thought she would look like my brother, but she looks just like her mother did.”

 

A chill runs through Jon as he thinks of all the people his mother had once known. Benjen Stark is the last of the family she had left behind. His mother rises to his level but keeps her eyes down on Sansa.

 

“There is so much that still needs to be done,” his mother says. “We may have taken King’s Landing, but the Seven Kingdoms will not welcome us with open arms. They remember your grandfather, and they remember the mad kings before him.”

 

Jon’s eyes flicker down to Sansa Stark. He wonders where exactly she truly stands in all of this. It’s clear by how fragile she’s become that she doesn’t sympathize with the Lannister family.

 

Jon’s eyes catch all the blacks and golds. It hasn’t even been a lifetime since his family was removed from their seat of power, but evidence of Robert’s victory is decorated in the palace. Then, there are the rumors of Joffrey’s parentage that need to be addressed.

 

“What do you remember of Cersei?” Jon asks. “Do you think that she would…?”

 

His voice catches before he can ask the question. It feels so hypocritical to even speak the words in such a way with a family line that has committed acts of incest for centuries. The thought of it seems so wrong, and yet, his family has committed the very acts he finds so wrong.

 

“Speak it,” his mother says. “There’s no sense in hiding your words.”

 

“Do you think that Joffrey is Jaime Lannister’s son?” he says it in the most tactful way he possibly can.

 

“I think it’s a possibility we should seriously consider,” his mother says.

 

There are several ways the wars to come can end. He has to be careful in the moves that he makes. Brutality can escalate so quickly without even a moment’s notice. Meereen sits in his memory as a reminder of what he mustn’t do. The way Daenerys choose to resolve their conflicts there _was_ …

 

Jon doesn’t wish to even think of it. He goes back to Astapor and Meereen far more than he thinks he should. It shouldn’t haunt him still. _But, it does._

 

“You’re thinking of it again,” his mother says. Her eyes drop to his hands that are tensing and releasing in a repetitive pattern. “I can always tell by the way your hands curl into fists.”

 

Jon releases the tension in his fingers. “I think _she_ made some mistakes.”

 

“It was a difficult situation,” his mother reminds. “ _She_ had a lot of hard choices to make.”

 

“It can’t happen again,” Jon’s voice is stern. “We can’t repeat the mistakes my ancestors have made.”

  
  



	3. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HI! So, I do apologize that this update was delayed a bit. I really wanted to get Jon and Sansa's interactions just right in this chapter so that I can ground them for what is to come. Ygritte has been moved around a bit here, because I feel like she is too central to Jon's character development to be ignored. So, I managed to place her in Essos but also keep her very close to who she was in canon. There's also a little bit more hints dropped in this chapter to foreshadow a certain Mad Targ's place in this story. 
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely comments.

Sansa does not wake to the sound of birds as she always does but rather to a dragon’s roar off in the distance. Her eyes snap open as she looks up to the canopy. It all comes back to her—the Godswood and her meeting with King Jon. She sits up in her bed, clutching the blanket to herself. She expels a deep breath of air at the sight of Jon hunched over a table. His fingers turn over a sheet of parchment before setting it on a pile of parchment.

 

Sansa’s lips part as she gasps. The way his black hair curls in waves and the dark hue in his eyes almost steals her breath from her. _Gods,_ he looks just like a Stark. His dark eyes fall upon her and he smiles softly. He sets his quill aside and goes to her bedside. He kneels at her bedside and looks at her with a kind of softness that she hasn’t seen in so long.

 

“Your handmaiden has told me that you have a preference for lemon cakes,” Jon gestures to the nightstand.

 

Sansa looks over her shoulder to the nightstand to see round yellow cakes topped with white icing. Her eyes linger on the lemon cakes before she turns back to Jon. _He is too kind to be believed,_ she thinks. Sansa has suffered and endured enough to know that no man is truly kind. _What does he want from her?_

 

Jon’s forehead creases in confusion as his eyes study her features. He lifts the back of his hand to her forehead as if to feel her temperature. “Are you unwell? I can call for a maester.”

 

Sansa looks into his eyes, trying to find a hint of malice dancing behind his soft eyes—the type of eyes Joffrey first showed her. But, when he looks up at her, it’s _so_ completely different than the looks Joffrey used to cast upon her. Sansa pauses for a mere moment, trying to find the right words but can only manage a few. “I am not ill, your grace. Thank you for your concern.”

 

It is in that moment that she realizes that she’s still wearing her gown from the previous night rather than her shifts. She recalls her mother scolding Arya for sleeping in trousers and a tunic rather than her shifts. Sansa’s chest tightens as her cheeks burn from embarrassment. She instinctively covers herself in her blanket.

 

Jon’s eyes study her face. Silence hangs in the air. She’s trying to find words to say to him, but she’s completely lost. King Jon and the Queen Mother are the last of her family now. She should embrace them as family. She should be on her knees in gratitude, but she’s hesitant. She had trusted Cersei, and it had almost reduced House Stark to ash. She must be more careful this time around if she wants House Stark to survive.

 

Sansa’s fingers curl around the end of the blanket. She sees the golds and blacks woven together that soon will be hues of red and black. Some will say that House Baratheon fell to the Targaryens, but that is hardly true. Joffrey is but a lion parading as a stag and the last Baratheon still exists. Stannis Baratheon and his daughter are amongst the living. Stannis won’t kneel. Sansa knows that much, but she doesn’t foresee any way he can win. Not with fire-breathing monsters at the front of the Targaryen army.

 

Sansa looks to Jon. Dragons and madness are the very nature of the Targaryen name, but his eyes are so gentle and kind with a brave sort of shine to them. Perhaps, she just does not want him to be a mad king. Perhaps she just wants him to be _good_ so badly that she wants to put all her faith in him. And, he’s so handsome. _Far more handsome than Joffrey could ever be,_ she thinks to herself. Her lips turn into a frown. _Don’t be so foolish_ , she thinks to herself. The Targaryens consolidate their power by marrying one another. The only difference between their Great House and Cersei is that they’re not afraid to hide their incest.

 

 _Daenerys Targaryen is to be Queen,_ Sansa thinks to herself. She soothes her fears by mentally telling herself that she won’t be like Cersei.  _No one can be as terrible as Cersei._

 

Jon’s hands smooth out her hair from her face. “My mother has spoken with Lady Margaery of Joffrey’s treatment of you. It pains me that both of you were treated so cruelly. It’s terrible that both of you were forced into betrothals to a man that treated both of you so poorly.”

 

Sansa resists the urge to scoff and dissolves into a fit of light coughs instead. _Margaery said she was forced?_  That is not at all how she remembered it to be. To marry Joffrey would be such a terrible fate for anyone, but Margaery was hardly forced into a betrothal. It would seem that Margaery is already making her play for Jon’s hand. How very typical of her, but also so very, very hopeless. Sansa is well versed enough in the practices of Targaryen marriage to understand what is to come.

 

“Lady Margaery…” she pauses, remembering the Tyrells' merciful offer to marry her to Willas. “Lady Margaery was very kind to me. The Gods have blessed her by freeing her from her betrothal.”

 

“She is…” Jon pauses as if to search for the right word, “... _ambitious._ Or, so Daenerys says, but in very different words.”

 

They both laugh at Jon’s comment. Her laughter fades. She can’t remember the last time she had even truly smiled. The two of them fall back into silence. His hands run through her long red hair. He stops at the end of the strand, keeping a lock in his hand. His eyes seem unfocused as he stares down at her hair.

 

“There was a girl in Meereen,” his voice drops. “She said had come from beyond the wall, but was captured by slavers when venturing south. She had hair just like yours. I loved her more than I had loved anyone. I had intended to marry her despite that there would be no alliances or trading of power. My mother had her reservations at first, but eventually agreed that I should marry for love just as she had.”

 

 _King Jon had fallen for a Wildling Girl?_ It almost seems too impossible to be real, but when she looks into his eyes, they’re glossed over as if he’s forcing back tears. His eyes raise to hers as the lock of hair slips from his hand. She can see all the grief in his eyes. This woman truly meant something to him.

 

“It was Daenerys choice to take Meereen, but she had lost control. _Ygritte_ had always had her own _opinions_ about Daenerys. ‘ _Mhysa is a master_ ,’ she had told me. I should have known then that…” Jon pauses. “It doesn’t matter. It’s so far in the past. I shouldn’t worry you with this. You have already seen so much.”

 

Sansa looks to Jon. “You may tell me if that is what you wish, your grace.”

 

Jon shakes his head and forces a smile. His eyes are no longer woeful but filled with the kindness that seems to come to him so naturally. “I want to be better than my grandfather. I don’t want my family to carry destruction everywhere I go. I hope we can do better.”

 

“If...” Sansa’s voice seems to disappear in her own nervousness. She searches herself for the last bit of nerve she has left and begins again. “ _If_ you are aware that King Aerys had _faults_ it seems impossible that you will make the same choices that he has, your grace.”

 

His eyes become unfocused for a moment as his gaze falls to the floor. “I truly hope that will come to be, Lady Sansa.”

 

There’s a knock at the chamber doors. Jon rises and goes to the door. He opens the door just a crack. She cannot understand a word that is being said, but there appear to be words exchanged in a low whisper. Jon opens the door, allowing for a dark-haired woman to enter the room. The woman wears a blue rose pin in her hair and a dress of pale grey. Sansa’s lips part into a gasp. She had heard stories of Lyanna Stark’s beauty and even in her age she is still radiant.

 

“I’ve been meaning to meet with you,” Lyanna beams down on her with a warmth in her smile that Cersei never had. “Even across the Narrow Sea with such distance between us, I have always thought of my family and what had become of House Stark. I remember my brother to be a very kind man. I had hoped that I would be able to see him again. Alas, that can never be. _But you…_ ” Lyanna pauses and takes two gentle steps towards her. “ _You_ look more like your mother than I ever could have imagined.”

 

It all seems too good to be true. The last of her family is far too kind. It’s as if Sansa is waiting for that moment when the veil is lifted. _And yet,_ she wishes for it all to be more than just a dream. She wants it to be as good as it all seems.

 

“It is an honor to finally meet you,” she almost wants to call her _Aunt Lyanna_ but corrects herself before she speaks. “ _Your grace._ ”

 

“There is no need for such pleasantries,” Lyanna leans down and places her hand on Sansa’s shoulders. “We are family, Sansa.”

 

Sansa smiles for a small moment before her eyes cast down to the bedding covering her legs. She’s waiting for the ax to drop. She's waiting for a new nightmare to begin because life can never so easy.

 

“There is so much that needs to be done,” Lyanna says. “But, tonight, I think that we will celebrate the end of the Lannisters' rule. I would like you to be at my side, Lady Sansa.”

 

It’s very tempting to take her offer straight away. Sansa reminds herself to be humble in the presence of the Queen Mother rather than to be eager to please like Margaery Tyrell. “It is a gracious offer, but I am not a Targaryen. My father fought against your Great House. I'm not sure if it is my place to be by your side.”

 

“But, you are a Stark just as I was before my marriage,” Lyanna says. “I have many regrets from that time in my life, but I see no reason to look back on them or to hold onto old family grudges. There is a higher cause and I want you to be part of it.”

 

Sansa takes a moment to let it all sink in. There are so many reasons she should reject making alliances with House Targaryen. It’s not just the recent past. It’s an entire history that stretches back for centuries. Their Great House has brought more bloodshed to Westeros than the Lannisters could even dream of. _But,_ when she looks past Lyanna and her eyes meet with Jon’s, she can’t deny that there is a certain gentleness about him.

 

So, she makes a choice. “I would be honored to be part of this higher cause, Aunt Lyanna.”

  
  
  
  



	4. Jon II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, before you continue, this is JONSA and there are tags listed that Daenerys is an antagonist in this story. Please be mindful of the tags before continuing. I'm not here to read several comments from Dany fans that don't like the content of this story. I am not bothered that people ship Jonerys. It's the default ship of the general audience. So, it has quite a following. If it's your cup of tea, more power to you. But, please don't be angry with the content of this chapter. You have been warned here and you have been warned in the tags. Seriously. I've never read a Jonerys fic in my entire life. It's not my thing. So, I'm not sure why you're still here if that is your preferred ship.
> 
> That being said, this chapter is going to start out with some inner family tension to set up future events.

Jon throws a red, scaled clothe behind his back and pins a dragon broach to his shoulder. His eyes fall back to the bed that Sansa had slept in mere hours ago. Perhaps it’s merely her uncanny resemblance to Ygritte, but the Stark girl has caught his attention. Both Ygritte and Sansa are Northern girls. He has this odd curiosity to the North and wishes to learn more about that part of the world. Jon has yet to see a flake of snow in his life. Ygritte used to tell him about it. He’s always imagined that it looked a lot like salt. He hopes that he might be able to go North one day and see it for himself.

 

“Lady Margaery is _enthusiastic_ to see you,” Daenerys approaches him with a red rose. “She asked that I give this to you.”

 

Jon’s eyes fall onto the red rose. He takes it from Daenerys and turns it in his fingers. The Tyrell girl is very pleasant and radiant, but none of it feels sincere. Jon sets the rose down on a table. He turns away from Daenerys and approaches a balcony. His hands touch the railing as he looks out to see the setting sun in an orange sky. Three dragons soar through the skies in the distance.

 

“She’s fortunate enough that I cannot bear children,” Jon turns to see a solemn look on Daenerys face. “You must choose someone else as a wife to produce an heir.”

 

Jon is not sure what he should say. The Targaryen line has practiced incest for centuries, but he can hardly say he’s even considered following in his grandfather’s footsteps. It would be rude insult Daenerys, however, to be completely dismissive. So, Jon turns to face her with a false polite smile. “I’m not sure if I’d say she’s fortunate. I’m not in a rush to marry.”

 

“You still grieve for _her_?” Daenerys asks.

 

The polite look on his face turns sour in an instant. Jon turns away from her and turns back to the setting sun. His fists clench tightly before releasing the tension within him. Jon has feared having this conversation with her for many moons now, but he supposes having it might help alleviate the tension that’s boiled between them since Meereen.

 

“Daenerys…”

 

“You used to call me Dany,” she reminds.

 

There’s a long pause between them. The tension between them has never been quite as heavy between them since Meereen. He reminds himself that she is his father’s sister. His father would want him to repair whatever it is that stands between them. Jon releases a heavy breath into the air and turns back to her.

 

“ _I loved her_ ,” Jon snaps.

 

“I didn’t know she was there when Drogon and I—“

 

“But, she was!” Jon shouts. “It was easy for you to scream Dracarys, but she burned alive _Dany!_ ”

 

“And, how are you to be sure she wasn’t part of The Sons of the Harpy?” Daenerys argues. “Because you loved her? Love can make you blind, Jon.”

 

“Because it’s not what she believed!” Jon explodes with anger. “She didn’t believe in masters or kings. You didn’t know her like I did. Ygritte wasn’t someone that could be used. She was a nobody with no claim, no titles, and no land. But, it wasn’t important for you to get to know her. So, you didn't.”

 

“No,” her voice is stern. “It wasn’t important. I understood from that I am to marry a high lord to make alliances while you pranced about with some low born girl. I knew Daario was to be set aside when I rode to Westeros. You cannot marry for love, Jon. Ser Arthur Dayne should have taught you better than that.”

 

“So, I should marry Lady Margaery, _because_ …”

 

“Yes,” Daenerys answers. “ _Because_ she comes from a strong house and she can provide you with heirs. We cannot sway the Martells, but we can sway the Tyrells. We need to choose our alliances carefully.”

 

“And, when I am dead, she will happily march up and offer her hand to the next king after me,” his eyes glance at the red rose with disdain. “I’d rather have someone I can trust by my side.”

 

Silence hangs between them once more. He searches his mind for that time when they were closer. He remembers the House with the Red Door and the lemon tree. Life was so much more innocent then. Viserys is to blame for this. That is what he has to tell himself to make peace with it. It’s the closest he can get to forgiveness.

 

“We must let this tension between us go,” Daenerys says. “Our enemies will try to exploit any animosity in our family. You, Lyanna, and I must stay strong together or our Great House may fall once more. You have a responsibility to carry your father’s legacy, Jon. You can grieve for Ygritte if you wish, but there will be a time that you will have to leave her in the past.”

 

Jon looks into her purple eyes. He can see the familial love was once felt so easily between them glow behind shades of violet. The fire in his heart seems to burn with anger, but he doesn’t hate her—not truly. She is the closest thing to a sister that he has left. He wants things to be like they once were, and for the first time, he actually believes that they can be as they were.

 

“I just need more time,” Jon says. “I loved her dearly. It’s not going to be easy just to let her go.”

 

“You have to try,” Daenerys says. “I came to love Drogo in spite of everything. Your mother loved your father. They have passed just as Ygritte has. Her and I have let go of past grievances and so must you for the future of our family.”

 

The soft glow behind her eyes hardens. She holds her stare for a few seconds before stepping away from Jon. He bites his lower lip and turns back to the balcony. His fingers dig into his palms as he fights back all of his grief and all of his rage. If only he were born a bastard, he could have been with her. They never should have left that cave they found outside of Meereen.  

 

The sound of his door clicking shut pulls him from his memories. Jon does a sharp turn and steps back inside his room. He needs to stay focused. He never wanted to be King, but now he is despite what he wishes. Jon has followed the call given to him by the ghost of Lord Stark, and he must be ready to accept the responsibilities before him.

 

There’s a tapping sound at his door. Jon breaks from his thoughts and goes to his door. His mother stands behind the door dressed in a gown of grey and a wolf choker to show her Stark origins. Jon steps outside his door and shuts it behind him. His mother links his arm in his.

 

“You’re tense,” she comments.

 

Jon does not answer her. He does not want to speak of Meereen. He just wants to forget it ever happened if only for one night.

 

“You can talk to me, Jon,” her voice is light with a lilt of compassion.

 

“It is nothing,” he says. “I’m just not used to life here in King’s Landing.”

 

His mother glances up at him with knowing grey eyes. He hasn’t convinced her, but she chooses not to pry. They walk along the serpentine steps in silence. It isn’t until they step back inside the Keep that his mother breaks their silence.

 

“Lady Margaery is excited to see you,” she says.

 

“I am... _aware_ ,” his words do not come out as smoothly as he imagined they would.

 

His mother chuckles. “I take it that she didn’t make the best impression.”

 

“It’s not that I don’t like her,” Jon says. “She seems pleasant but too eager.”

 

Their conversation becomes silent as they pass through a hall of guests. The intricacies of politics haven’t always been a strong point of his, but he’s learned to be silent in the presence of others. Perhaps politics are the weak point of his family. Viserys and Daenerys have their shortcomings as well. Or, maybe it’s that they all were forced across the world. It's hard to understand how a government works when you didn't grow up in it. He will need to marry someone that understands Westeros better than he does if this is going to work.

 

The two of them step into the banquet hall, watching as men bow their head and women dip into curtsies. Jon’s catches red hair tied into a braided bun and two braids falling to the sides. He meets Sansa’s soft blue eyes. His eyes run over her hairstyle once more. Her hair looks so tight and constricted. He wishes he could see it flowing past her shoulders like he had when he met her.

 

Jon forces his gaze to the front of the room. He breaks away from his mother and walks to the table laid out at the end of the hall. He sits next to Daenerys, reminding himself to be civil in the appearance of others. He can feel the tension radiating from her. His chest feels weighted, and he wishes he was anywhere but here. When his mother sits next to him, he feels the tension lift slightly. The room quiets underneath the presence of the new royal family.

 

There’s this thickness in the air. He can hardly breathe underneath the pressure of his own inner family problems, but also the new responsibilities on his shoulders. Jon eyes Arthur Dayne off to the side of the table who gives him an encouraging nod. He finds the confidence to rise to his feet and look upon the crowd of lords and ladies that have chosen to pledge to House Targaryen. There are the Tyrells and their followers. Then, there is Sansa Stark who stands off to the side with her eyes low. He can see the loneliness in her eyes. A girl alone in this world without her family seems such a terrible fate.

 

He moves his gaze across the crowd. “When I came to Westeros, I did not come to return to the past. The practices of my family have not always been the greatest. Brothers married sisters and kings have gone mad. There have been family feuds that have cost the lives of those that would have rather not been involved. It would seem that House Lannister is starting to carry on the sins of some of my worst ancestors if the rumors of Joffrey’s parentage are true.”

 

“Joffrey Lannister has retreated with Tywin Lannister to Casterly Rock,” he catches Sansa’s eyes flicker up to his. It is as if her heart is breaking just knowing that Joffrey is alive. “But, we do have Cersei Lannister in captivity. I will do everything in my power to be sure that Joffrey Lannister does not return to power. You have my word as your King but also as a man that wants what’s best for the Seven Kingdoms.”

 

The crowd erupts into roars. Lords and ladies bless his name and call out to him. He can see the faintest of smiles rise on Sansa Stark’s lips. He looks to his mother who beams at him with pride. He turns back to Daenerys. There’s a look of warning in her eyes.

 

“Be careful, Jon,” she warns. “If you’re too soft, these lords will pull the rug right from underneath you.”

 

Jon holds her stare, trying to decipher the meaning of her words. He looks upon the Tyrells, and then to Sansa Stark. He remembers the words that Cersei Lannister had spit at him upon her capture. _When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is going to have a big Jonsa moment! I sort of set something up in this chapter for something super cute in the next chapter. You'll know when you see it!


	5. Sansa II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really loved this chapter especially the last bit. :)

Days seem to go by in a quiet that Sansa can only recall from her childhood. Her hands don’t shake when she has her needle in hand and the tension in her shoulders seems to relax for the first time since she left Winterfell. The walls of the Red Keep are starting to feel less like a prison and more like a home. Sometimes she’ll pass her cousin in the halls and he’ll give her this boyish smile. They’ll exchange pleasantries. He’ll stumble on his words when he compliments her and he’ll shift on his feet with nervousness.

 

 _King Jon doesn’t know how to talk to ladies._ It’s almost tragic. He has so much sweetness but lacks the charm to court a lady. None of that really matters though. Lady Margaery will make her play now that it’s clear that he isn’t betrothed to Princess Daenerys. Sansa frowns at the thought. If the North were secure rather than broken and chaotic, Sansa might have more to offer him. It’s so very silly. She should be past this by now, but she’s slightly taken with King Jon. It might be that he carries the same solemn look that her father had when he’s quiet in thought. Or, maybe it’s just that he’s the first person to truly treat her with kindness since her father was imprisoned by the Lannisters.

 

And, yet, Sansa feels that she has had enough experience with High Lords and Kings to keep her distance. She was dealt a life lesson through Joffrey Lannister. But, Jon is not like him at all. Jon is the furthest thing from Joffrey she can think of. _What chance does she really have?_ It was much easier to make an alliance through marriage when her father was so close to King Robert. Margaery Tyrell is the obvious choice. The Tyrells fought for the Targaryens during Robert's Rebellion and the Tyrells have more to offer through marriage. Sansa swallows the bitter taste of disappointment in her mouth. It’s easy to let it go when she’s already lost so much more than the chance of being betrothed to a king.

 

Lady Shae finishes fixing a hairnet on her head. “All finished, my lady.”

 

The way Lady Shae speaks is almost informal. It’s as if she’s trying her hand at living in the Red Keep rather than taking her curtsies and words seriously. Sansa wonders how this woman ever came to be in her service, but she is grateful for it. Shae was never one of the Queen’s little narks. So, her careless words and sloppy curtsies have never bothered Sansa. Shae does seem to carry a bit of sadness about her lately though. Perhaps she lost someone during the Targaryen siege.

 

Sansa thanks Shae for fixing her hair and tying the backs of her silver gown before leaving her chambers. She steps down the stairs with a small smile on her face. She hasn’t felt this rush of excitement in so long that just the thought of Jon’s Coronation brings a spring to her step. She reaches the end of the steps to see Ser Arthur Dayne waiting for her.

 

“The Queen Mother has asked that I escort you to the Great Sept of Baelor,” he says.

 

Sansa smiles and curtsies. “I give you and the Queen Mother my thanks, Ser Arthur.”

 

The first thing that catches Sansa’s eye is the Sword of the Morning resting at Arthur’s hip. Her father had spoken of coming head to head with Arthur Dayne at the Tower of Joy. _He could have killed me easily_ , she had overheard him telling her mother. _But, he cared too much for my sister and her newborn son to cut me down before them._ She has wondered a lot about Arthur Dayne and Lyanna Stark. The only time he truly smiles is when she’s in the room with him.

 

Sansa follows obediently behind Arthur Dayne until they exit the keep. Ser Arthur shows her to her carriage and climbs in after her. She looks out the window and into the crowd. So many people seem so jubilant. It’s much different than Joffrey’s coronation where there was a sense of falseness to the public’s celebrations of Joffrey’s kingship.

 

“I had the pleasure of meeting Catelyn Tully,” Arthur breaks the silence between them. “You look so much like she did when she was young.”

 

Sansa’s heart swells and breaks at the same time at the mention of her mother. “I miss her dearly.”

 

Tears brim her eyes, but she refuses to cry in the presence of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. She doesn’t want the King or the Queen Mother to see her as a weepy girl. Even if her heart breaks for her family, she must put on her best smile for the Targaryen Family on the day of Jon’s coronation.

 

Sansa keeps her eyes on the crowd outside. The way the smallfolk celebrate in rejoice gives her hope. Joffrey had starved them out of spite. It makes sense that they would take any new ruler over him. There’s a feeling of worry that stirs within her. It still feels too good to be true. Jon appears to be a good king. She believes him when he says he wants to do good. So, why does an impending feeling of doom simmer within her?

 

The carriage stops. All of her muscles feel so frozen in place. Sansa can barely even manage to move until Arthur offers her his hand. Sansa’s hand trembles as she reaches out to him. His hand curls around hers as he helps her out of the carriage. Sansa’s feet touch the ground and she manages to shake her fears from her. She is the cousin of the King and the niece of the Queen Mother. The dynamics of her place with House Targaryen are far different than her place with House Lannister. She shouldn’t place the actions of Joffrey and Cersei on Jon and Lyanna.

 

Arthur leads her through the crowds towards the Great Sept of Baelor. Sansa keeps her head low, trying not to think of the day Joffrey murdered her father or when she was pushed into her marriage with Tyrion Lannister. How can a place of worship hold her worst memories? Sansa feels anxiety swell within her once more.

 

When she sees Lyanna dressed in hues of deep blue, her spirits seem to lift. There is something so familiar in her grey eyes. _Father_. Yes, they remind her of her father, and suddenly, she feels so safe. Lyanna beams at her with such a bright smile. She seems so _happy._ Sansa has forgotten what it feels like to be happy. She would frown if she weren’t in the presence of the Queen Mother, but instead, she makes herself smile.

 

“Thank you, Ser Arthur, for bringing her to me,” Lyanna says in soft tone.

 

“It is always my pleasure, your grace.” Arthur’s eyes seem to brighten a bit as he looks down on the Queen Mother.

 

Lyanna links her arm Sansa’s. She guides her inside the Sept. Sansa looks to see Lady Margaery in the crowd. She gives Sansa an inviting smile and waves as if she hadn’t spent the last few moons completely ignoring her existence. _She wishes for me to set her up with Jon,_ Sansa thinks to herself. Sansa doesn’t smile or wave back to Lady Margaery. She refuses to be used as a piece on someone else’s board like she once was under the Lannisters' rule. She is not Margaery’s _Key to the North_ nor will she be her way into the Targaryen House.

 

“I wish for you to stand with me during my son’s coronation,” Lyanna whispers just loud enough so Sansa could hear her.

 

“I would be honored, your grace,” is all Sansa can think to say.

 

Lyanna leads her to the left end of the Sept and stops right next to Daenerys. Daenerys’ purple eyes study her for a moment before turning back to the High Septon. Sansa forces her eyes forward. Daenerys has neglected to ever address her, and Sansa has this odd fear that maybe Daenerys dislikes her. Her arms tighten around Lyanna’s as if her aunt can protect her from her perceived fear.

 

“Lords and Ladies of Westeros,” the High Septon begins. “I have gathered you all in this Great Sept on this day so that you may witness the restoration of the Great House Targaryen and the Coronation of King Jon I Targaryen, first of his name.”

 

Music chimes through the halls as lords and ladies turn to watch Jon walk to the front of the Sept in regal clothes made of black and red. Jon’s eyes glance upon his mother before they fall onto her. Sansa’s lips part slightly as he stares into her eyes for just a moment longer. A soft smile graces his lips before he focuses his gaze forward and steps up to meet the High Septon.

 

Jon does this awkward bowing of his head as if he is completely out of place. The High Septon seems to whisper something to him. Jon straightens his shoulders and looks to the crowd. The High Septon takes a crown in hand and turns to face the crowd gathered in the Sept and begins his speech, naming off the Seven Gods and each of their attributes.

 

Sansa’s eyes glance past Lyanna to see Margaery with a red rose in her hands. She smiles up at Jon just as she once smiled for Joffrey. Sansa wonders if she once held the same smile for Lord Renly. Margaery’s eyes meet with hers. Her smile doesn’t falter even a bit as she stares back to Sansa. Sansa fakes a smile and turns back to Jon. The High Septon places a gold crown of dragons on his head. “I now proclaim Jon of the House Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Long may he reign!"

 

“Long may he reign!” Sansa says in unison with the lord and ladies in the Sept.

 

Sansa watches intently as Jon looks down upon the crowd. Her eyes are on Margaery once more. The girl takes a small step forward, but Jon is completely obvious of her. Instead, his first instinct is to go to his family.

 

“Mother... _Dany_ —” Jon pauses as a beat of silence passes between them.

 

"Jon," Dany says, holding his gaze with an intense look in her violet eyes.

 

Lyanna breaks the tension and pulls Jon into a hug. “Your father would be so proud of you.”

 

The two part from one another. Lyanna smoothes out the black material of his coat and straightens the golden chain across his chest. Jon’s eyes catch Sansa's, and he takes a shy step towards her. The way he bows reminds her of Shae’s curtsies. Sansa nearly giggles at the sight of it. He’s clearly not really used to being at court.

 

Jon rises from his bow and looks into her eyes. “Lady Sansa…”

 

“Your grace…” Sansa pauses and searches for the right words. “It is such an honor to see your coronation.”

 

“Your dress is very pretty. I like the color,” she can see the embarrassed grimace the moment his words leave his mouth. His cheeks darken to a red hue. Jon really really _can’t_ talk to ladies.

 

“Your grace, it was such a beautiful ceremony!” Lady Margaery exclaims before she offers him the red rose in her fingers. “A gift for you from House Tyrell.”

 

“You are too kind, Lady Margaery,” Jon says as he takes the rose in hand.

 

“Lady Sansa, it has been quite some time since we’ve had tea in the gardens.” Margaery looks to her. “My grandmother misses your presence.”

 

“I wasn’t aware that I was missed,” Sansa says. “We haven’t spoken since my wedding.”

 

Daenerys' gaze falls on her and Margaery, eying them both like a hawk.

 

“Cersei must have intercepted my invitations to you,” Margaery says. “We would both love to see you, Lady Sansa.”

 

Sansa’s nerves feel on fire as Lady Margaery looks upon her. She decides that now is not the time to cave to petty arguments. “I was unaware of Cersei’s interference. It would be lovely to have tea with you, Lady Margaery.”

 

Daenerys’ eyes fall onto Jon. There’s a certain coldness in her demeanor. The court seems as if it is a nuisance to her and she’d rather be applying herself elsewhere. There’s something about Daenerys that makes Sansa weary, but she can’t quite place what it is.

  


* * *

 

 

Sansa should have asked Arthur Dayne to take her back to her chambers, but she was so compelled to go to the Godswood. Sansa's head is so cloudy with wine that she can hardly make it down the trail to the Godswood without tripping over herself. Sansa considers turning back around and asking Arthur to take her back to her chambers. But, she chooses to persist. She follows the trail to the Godswood and kneels before the great oak. She places her hands together in prayer for only a moment before footsteps interrupt her. She gasps in surprise and fills her lungs with air to scream for Arthur Dayne.

 

 _Jon._ She curtsies and bows her head low. “Your grace…”

 

“Lady Sansa, I did not mean to scare you. Forgive me.”

 

There’s this quiet between them. She hadn’t seen him on the trail. Had he been here before her? She didn’t think that he followed the Old Gods. Sansa steadies herself and mentally chides herself for drinking so much.

 

“I had meant to tell you earlier that Lord Baelish intends to marry Lysa Arynn.” Jon pauses for a moment, and when he speaks again, there’s a tinge of sorrow laced within his tone. “Lady Arynn and Lord Baelish have offered to take you in as a ward.”

 

Her heart nearly stops as panic stirs within her. “What did you decided, your grace?”

 

“I thought that you should choose,” Jon says. “I understand why you wouldn’t want to here anymore. There must be so many painful memories behind these walls, but—”

 

He turns away from her and looks out to the stars. “I quite like you, Lady Sansa. I would like you to stay here.”

 

“I don’t want to leave, your grace.” Her answer is so sudden. “I wish to stay with you and Aunt Lyanna.”

 

A kind smile forms on his lips as he turns back to her. There’s this intense gaze in his dark eyes. He steps towards her and reaches out for a strand of loose hair.

 

“I wish you would wear your hair down more often,” he says.

 

There’s a pause between them. Jon’s hand reaches out to the hairnet on her head but stops. He hesitates for a second longer before removing the hairnet from her head. He drops it carelessly and removes the pins holding her hair together. Her hair tumbles past her shoulders. Her heart seems to stop as she looks to the crown of dragons on his head. She feels as if she’s in a vivid dream. It feels so real, and yet, it just feels too good to be real.

 

Jon places his hands on her cheeks and presses his lips against her forehead. He withdraws from her and smiles at her. Her breath is short as she looks upon him. He strokes her hair away from her face. It almost feels as if forever has gone by. It's as if time has stopped for them in this one small moment.

 

“Ser Arthur,” Sansa whispers. “He’s waiting for me.”

 

Jon smiles to her and whispers, “Go to him. I wouldn’t want him to worry for you.”

 

Sansa steps towards the trail and turns back. A sudden wave of bravery runs through her, and Sansa is well aware that bravery has a short lifespan. So, she acts before she can think to do anything else. She races back towards him and places her lips upon his. Jon is taken aback but relaxes. He pulls her closer to him and returns her kiss. The two breakaway and Jon rests his forehead against hers.

 

“Go now,” Jon whispers with a soft smile. “Go now before he finds us like this.”

 

Sansa steps away from Jon reluctantly. She turns to the trail and sprints down the path. Her heart is racing and she almost wonders if she had dreamt it all.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously Jon and Sansa were both drunk in that last scene.


End file.
